Always Smiling
by didcaesarlivehere
Summary: "She noticed things: the way her little brother's face fell after a reprimand, the bony, prominent cheekbones of the children in the Seam, the bruises that littered the three Mellark boys. She saw the way Peeta in particular sometimes flinched when she touched him, even if she were only offering a hug." The story of everyone's favorite optimist: Delly Cartwright.


**Author's Note: I uploaded this story a year or so ago, but quickly lost my nerve and removed it.**

**I have read lots of fanfiction, but this is my first foray into writing it-so please be kind. :)**

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

* * *

Delly Cartwright was the happiest baby born in all of Panem—according to her mother, at least.

The few faded photographs she was able to uncover of her toddling years seemed to point to this as well. Her toothless, wide grin was always there, lurking beneath her plump cheeks and blonde ringlets. There were snapshots of her laughing on her mother's hip, the two of them standing in the dusty, desolate streets of District 12; another of her donning her first pair of shiny Mary Janes, a proud moment in the life of a cobbler's daughter; and one that showed her alongside a fair-haired boy, their mouths open in laughter.

She stared at the latter photo quizzically, flipping it over and reading the scrawled handwriting on the back: _Delly, 2, with Peeta Mellark._

"You were always smiling," her mother repeated from her spot at the kitchen table. "Especially when you were around him."

* * *

There was more to her, too, than that wide, Cheshire smile. She was also sensitive, empathetic to a fault.

She noticed things: the way her little brother's face fell after a reprimand, the bony, prominent cheekbones of the children in the Seam, the bruises that littered the three Mellark boys. She saw the way Peeta in particular sometimes flinched when she touched him, even if she were only offering a hug.

Sometimes, when she felt too much, she swiped food: pilfering crackers from the kitchen pantry, stealing a few cookies out of a crumpled brown paper bag from the nearby bakery. Alone in her bedroom, she would eat until she had a stomachache, until that alone was the only thing she could feel.

* * *

She was so nervous on her very first day of school that she ate her brother's muffin, waiting until he momentarily got up from the table to make her move. The guilt that followed was excruciating—after all, muffins were rare treats from the bakery, saved for special occasions.

Her hand trembled in her mother's as they approached the brick school building, and it wasn't until she saw Peeta, deep in conversation with his father, that she was finally able to relax. She ran toward him, catching the end of a whispered conversation—something about coal miners, someone's mother, and birds falling silent to listen.

She clasped his hand for most of the day, clinging to his familiarity in an alien environment. He only smiled at her, brave and confident as ever.

It was in music class that his expression changed. A pretty little Seam girl with ebony braids volunteered to sing the Valley Song and Delly couldn't remember hearing anything more beautiful. She noticed, too, how Peeta's eyes widened, how his chest heaved with a sigh. At the end of the song, his fingers fell slowly from hers.

The little girl gave a slow, shy smile when the teacher praised her singing. Delly studied the girl's thin arms, her bony elbows. She looked down at the curve of her own belly poking through her pink floral dress, and wondered how much time was left until lunch.

* * *

Middle school boys were especially cruel, particularly one pimple faced kid who stood near her locker in the afternoons. He made callous, snorting pig noises whenever she walked by, and, for once, good natured Delly Cartwright couldn't let it roll off her back with a smile.

Peeta was waiting for her as he did at the close of each school day—his broad frame hovering near the exit, ready to begin the trek home. Something broke within her when she rounded the corner and saw her loyal friend's kind eyes. Bursting into tears, Delly described the bullying in disconnected, shame-filled sobs. Peeta listened, patient as always, before his expression sobered. When the pimple faced kid emerged from the school building minutes later, Peeta promptly thrust him against a nearby wall, muttering threats only inches from his face.

She never heard another snort.

* * *

When she felt a strong arm snake around her shoulders, enveloping her in a friendly hug, she knew who it was without ever looking up.

"Congratulations on the wrestling match," she said, allowing him to carry her Algebra book like a gentleman. "Second place isn't too shabby."

Peeta shrugged, kicking a clod of coal as they walked along. "Kind of embarrassing to lose to your brother, though."

They journeyed for a moment in silence until he finally spoke again, his whispered words meant for Delly alone. "Do you think _she _noticed?" he asked.

And, even though her heart broke a little, she gave a broad smile. "I'm sure of it, Peeta," she said, nodding her head.

When they arrived at the bakery, Peeta offered her some stale cookies, and she didn't refuse.

* * *

Her heart nearly stopped when she saw him in the chariot.

She was bursting with so many emotions: fear, admiration, _love. _She had not stopped eating since they called his name at the Reaping, unable to control the firestorm of feelings within her.

Delly watched as Peeta gripped the hand of the girl he had pined for since that fateful morning in music class. She was surprised when this small gesture flooded her with relief and happiness, not jealousy.

If these were Peeta Mellark's final days, she was glad he got to spend them with Katniss Everdeen. It was a morbid thought, but it brought her a sliver of comfort.

* * *

Delly stood in the dense, noisy crowd at the train station. Happy conversation flowed freely around her—the community's excitement was palpable. They were all awaiting the return of the star-crossed lovers from District 12, _their District 12._

"I'm glad we finally have some brave, _sober_ victors we can be proud of," someone remarked. Delly clapped in agreement.

But when Peeta stepped off the train, his fingers intertwined with that of his fellow victor, she knew it immediately: something was wrong. He was smiling, but the expression never reached his blue eyes.

* * *

When she saw him again—in person and not behind the glass of a television set—he was gaunt, pale, exhausted. His arms were strapped to a bed like a wild animal, and he studied Delly in bewilderment. She grinned so hard she thought her face would crack, willing him to remember.

Delly did as she had been instructed, talking of their childhood chalk drawings. She knew the very pavement where those drawings had once resided had been reduced to ash and rubble—just like the bodies of her parents, Peeta's parents, various others she had known and loved.

She couldn't dwell on that, though. She would surely break down.

Instead, she was her normal happy self, and yet it was futile. She was quickly ushered from the room, Peeta's screams reverberating in her ears. A dark cloud of hopelessness followed her out.

She was desperate for food, but her portions in District 13 were tightly controlled. Unsure of what else to do, she sent her brother on some pointless errand and locked herself in their living quarters, crying and wailing and seething with anger into her open hands. It was a new emotion.

* * *

She stared down at the sleeping body between them, the little girl's ginger curls splayed out on the bed sheet like a halo.

"It will be good for her to see it," Her husband said, kissing the back of Delly's hand. "It will be good for _both_ of you to see it."

"I don't want to go without you," Delly admitted, tightening the quilt around her shoulders and sinking further into her pillow.

"You know I can't come," he replied gently. She nodded. His job managing a busy power plant in the heart of what was once District 5 provided very little time off.

"I wonder if it still smells the same," she pondered aloud. Her heavy eyelids finally closed.

* * *

The aroma was indeed very much the same when she stepped off the train: pine, dust, and the faint, lingering scent of coal. She filled her lungs with the strange perfume. It was only after her deep inhale that she noticed she was shaking. Her daughter was staring up at her, tiny eyes wide with concern.

"Mommy?" she asked, chewing her bottom lip.

She bent to give the girl a reassuring kiss on the head. Hand-in-hand, they walked down a familiar path of District 12. It had certainly grown and blossomed since her last visit, but it was still quaint in a way that comforted her.

Almost instinctively, she found the previous location of her parents' shoe shop, now home to a playground. Children with blonde and dark hair alike clung to slides and monkey bars. She gently squeezed her daughter's hand, knowing her mother and father would be pleased.

Rounding the corner, her limbs light with hope, she felt both relieved and nervous when she realized_ it_ was still there. It was bigger, more modern, but still looked very much like she had remembered. She paused for a moment to lay her fingers on the glass of the storefront, tracing the red letters there. _Mellark's Bakery._

Gathering her courage, she pushed open the heavy door, watching as her daughter's eyes fell instantly on delicately frosted cakes and towering stacks of cookies. The establishment was mostly empty. Delly recalled from her childhood memories that this was fairly common of a bakery in the late afternoon. One lone customer sat at a nearby table, his sneakered feet not touching the ground.

"Oh, Daa-aad," he called out in a raspy sing-song voice. He never looked up from a picture he was engrossed in coloring. "You have a customer." Stepping closer, Delly noted the little boy's blonde locks, reminiscent of the Peeta she had grown up with. That's where the similarities ended. The boy finally glanced up at her with steel gray eyes, a smirk slowly spreading across the olive skin of his face. Those features hearkened back to a little girl she once saw sing the valley song, the one who would grow up to lead a rebellion, the one who would keep her daughter's name and the name of all children out of a Reaping bowl.

Peeta suddenly appeared behind the bakery counter, a flour streaked apron tied around his waist. He looked different, older, _changed_, as she was. He smiled politely, began to spit out a friendly greeting, and then his eyes narrowed.

"Delly?" he choked out. She had heard the rumors and knew there was a chance he might not remember her or, worse, remember her and then convulse with some false, Capitol-induced memory. He did neither, stepping in front of the counter to embrace her, hard. They both chuckled with happiness.

When they broke apart, Delly's daughter was no longer by her side. She had instead walked over to the little boy and was peering with rapt interest over his shoulder. Peeta's son smiled at his visitor before offering her his crayon drawing. Delly's daughter happily accepted the gift, then the two stood together, studying the artwork. The little girl grinned, her mother's trademark expression filling her tiny face. The boy smiled, too, his eyes as kind as his father's. Delly suddenly remembered a photograph taken long ago—_Delly, 2, with Peeta Mellark_. She studied the children, deciding to brand the image onto her brain, a memory to file away for a day when her emotions threatened to overwhelm her.

Memories like these, she had found, were much sweeter than any sugary confection she had ever tasted.


End file.
